


curing homesickness

by raewrites



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Canon Compliant, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, and keith has had Enough, lance is homesick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-07-24 11:21:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7506307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raewrites/pseuds/raewrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Look.” Keith says after a minute, biting his bottom lip between his teeth. There’s a line of emotional intimacy he prefers to stay well away from, and just sitting down next to Lance, their shoulders practically brushing, already has his toe on said line. Every fiber in his being is vibrating with anxiety, willing him to stand up and brush this whole thing off, telling him that this isn’t his place, he barely knows Lance. But another glance at the other, staring back at him with curious surprise, tear tracks faded on his cheeks, pushes Keith right over the line of discretion and into entirely unfamiliar territory. </i>
</p><p> </p><p>  <i>     “You’re obviously really fucking miserable, so just—“ Keith bursts out, pausing and lifting a hand to grip the hair at the back of his neck in a nervous motion, trying to remember how to be comforting without being a condescending asshole, “Tell me about them. If you want to talk about your family, or tacos, or comics, or whatever, you can talk to me, okay? I have ears, I can listen.”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	curing homesickness

**Author's Note:**

> admittedly i like these two a lot.
> 
> homesick lance is my _jam._

     It slips out sometimes, the moments where Lance catches himself talking about life back on Earth.  
  
     Usually it’s harmless; a passing comment about his favorite _carnitas_ shack in El Paso or what he would give to get his hands on the latest issue of a particular comic. These usually slide off his shoulder with little more than the anticipation of a frown, though sometimes more meaningful inklings work their way from the other's subconscious, dismantling his composure almost instantly.  
  
     Keith remembers when he’d bit the inside of his cheek last week, his expression contorting in shocked pain as Lance cackled beside him, space goo caught in the corners of his mouth.  
  
      _“God, my hermanito used to make a face just like that.”_ Lance had said, breath labored with laughter,  _“When mama made him eat everything on his plate. He was—“_ It was in that moment that Lance seemed to catch himself, mirthful eyes dimming to something solemn and unfamiliar, brow furrowing,  _“I mean. He is. He_ is _stubborn.”_ Keith had watched the other carefully as he’d stared down at his plate for a contemplative moment before standing up from his seat and excusing himself to the paladin barracks.  
  
    _“He’ll be okay.”_ Keith’s gaze had shifted to Hunk, the yellow paladin’s soft, square eyes steady on him,  _“Just homesickness, you know.”_  
  
_“Yeah.”_ Keith had replied slowly, his appetite having left with Lance.  
  
     But he doesn’t know.  
  
     He’d have to have a home to be sick over it.   
  
***  
  
     Keith doesn’t say anything when he finds Lance sitting in the operations room sometime early the next morning. The other sits crouched at the opposite end of the room, knees pulled to his chest, looking out at the unfamiliar universe encompassing the ship.  
  
     Lance glances back over his shoulder when he hears the door slide open, and Keith has only a moment to remember the sharp twinge of pain behind his breastbone when he sees the red in Lance’s eyes, the wet glisten of them reflected in the light off the Balmera crystal.  
  
     “Hey!” Lance exclaims, too eager, his voice cracking at he turns quickly to wipe his eyes with the cuff of his long sleeve, “What are you doing here? It’s like ass o’clock, dude.”  
  
     “Well _you’re_ usually in your pod snoring so loud I can hear you through the _wall_ at this time _,_ so I could ask you the same question.” Keith replies, pacing over to the control panel, “Coran asked me to grab his ticker, by the way. They’re having one of those stupid tick versus second competitions again.”  
  
     “Ah.” Lance lets out a short, breathy laugh, “I keep missing those.”  
  
     “You’re not missing much.”  
  
     Keith picks up the ticker, glances back at the door, and heaves a sigh before pacing over to Lance and sitting down beside him. He watches from his peripheral as the other startles and hastily rubs his face down again, but Keith keeps his gaze purposefully directed in front of him, his eyes following the lazy path of an asteroid cluster glide past them.  
  
     “Look.” Keith says after a minute, biting his bottom lip between his teeth. There’s a line of emotional intimacy he prefers to stay well away from, and just sitting down next to Lance, their shoulders practically brushing, already has his toe on said line. Every fiber in his being is vibrating with anxiety, willing him to stand up and brush this whole thing off, telling him that this isn’t his place, he barely _knows_ Lance. But another glance at the other, staring back at him with curious surprise, tear tracks faded on his cheeks, pushes Keith right over the line of discretion and into entirely unfamiliar territory.   
  
     “You’re obviously really fucking miserable, so just—“ Keith bursts out, pausing and lifting a hand to grip the hair at the back of his neck in a nervous motion, trying to remember how to be comforting without being a condescending asshole, “Tell me about them. If you want to talk about your family, or tacos, or comics, or _whatever,_ you can talk to me, okay? I have ears, I can listen.”  
  
     “You have ears under all that mess, I don’t believe it.”   
  
     “Okay _bye,_ asshole.”  
  
     “No, no, no, wait.” Lance rushes, reaching up to grip at the hem of Keith’s shirt when he stands irritably to his feet, “Hey, I’m sorry. Can you sit down again? Sorry.”  
  
     Staring Lance down with furrowed brows and a habitual frown, Keith slowly sits down next to him again. Looking noticeably relieved, Lance runs a hand down his face, letting another half-hearted laugh fan between his splayed fingers.  
  
     “I didn’t expect you to…you know.”  
  
     “What?” Keith asks, very aware of Lance’s long fingers still tangled in the thin cloth of his undershirt, “Be nice?”  
  
     Lance gives him somewhat of a withering look, turning back to the wall of stars before them, “You know what I mean.”  
  
     “Do you want to talk or not?”  
  
     “Yeah.” Lance replies, finally noticing his hand in Keith’s shirt when the other shifts slightly next to him. Lance look down at his own hand, brow furrowing slightly before he slowly disentangles his fingers and drops them to the floor just next to Keith’s hip. Keith tries to ignore the hesitation in the action, as well as the subtle flush working its way up his neck, making his own face feel hot.  
  
     “Then _tell_ me.” His voice is softer and gentler than he’s heard it in years, startling the both of them. Lance turns his head to look him over for a second, as if verifying his existence, before a grin finally breaks across his lips.  
  
     “Alright, alright. Since you’re so damn eager.”  
  
     Keith suppresses the urge to shove Lance, and instead pulls his own knees to his chest, listening as Lance begins speaking like he’s reciting lines from his own autobiography.  
  
     “Well I was born in Santa Ana, El Salvador—“  
  
     “Are we really gonna start at the beginning?”  
  
     Lance waggles his eyebrows in a way that should have irritated Keith but doesn’t somehow, and continues, “But I only lived there for a year before my parents got their visas to the US. My tía and tío had already been up in El Paso for a few years and we didn’t end up too far away. New Cruces, in New Mexico.”  
  
     Keith settles his temple on the tops of his knees, listening as Lance describes his family; his mother’s hugs, how such a petite woman could completely encompass you in her arms, make you feel at home even as a stranger. Lance tells him about his father’s aptitude for making friends (“He’d be chatting with the cashier at the gas station like they were old friends even though he’d never met the guy in his life!”) and Keith quietly ponders how that particular gene must have worked its way into Lance himself.   
  
     Lance tells him about his siblings, twins eight years younger than him; about how his younger sister can barely roll her r’s without spitting everywhere, and how many bones his younger brother has broken since turning four. He talks about his cousins, all twelve of them, and about his grandparents; his grandfather’s stories about the Civil War and his grandmother’s flan. He rambles about his uncle’s extensive collection of Dallas Stars paraphernalia and how he _still_ doesn’t understand hockey at all despite all the times his uncle sat him and his cousins down to watch Jaime Benn highlights.  
  
     “Ah and my tía makes this _killer_ hot sauce. My hermanito, oh my _God,_ the little shit got it in his _eye_ once. He was fine!” Lance assures him, waving his hand dismissively at Keith’s look of alarm, “He wore an eyepatch for a week though. It looked cool as hell.” A laugh works its way between Keith’s lips despite himself, which only excites Lance further, “No really! We colored it in with markers and everything. Made him look like a pirate. Mama shot down every plea for a matching parrot, though.”  
  
     “Oh god.” Keith scoffs, “You with a parrot would be insufferable.”  
  
     “While you’re not wrong, I’m still offended.” Lance says, makeshift pout wobbling with each urge to laugh instead, “Her excuse was always that we already had a pet, and that _she’s_ the only one who takes care of her, and it would only be worse if she had to clean up bird shit also.”   
  
     “You have a pet?”   
  
     “A golden retriever. Sofía.” Lance’s expression falls slightly, “I miss everyone, you know. But whenever I felt this shitty at home, she would always find me. Dogs have that sense you know? When their human is feeling sad. And she would just sit with her nose on my chest for _hours.”_  
  
Keith feels a pain beneath his ribs, a sort of pulsating ache that leaves him without enough air in his lungs and a sinking feeling in his stomach. Sucking in a deep breath for courage, he lifts his hand and places it on Lance’s shoulder. The other is warm to the touch, and Keith finds his thumb working in small circles despite himself. Lance looks over to him, eyebrows furrowed and lips parted, throat working for the excess of words that seem to have left him.  
  
     “I’m not a damn dog.” Keith starts, “And I’m not gonna put my nose on your chest because you smell but, you know.” Suddenly feeling unsure of himself, Keith pauses, cursing his incapability to project his good intentions into actual words, “As long as we’re here, we’re like a family. Or not a family, really. The lions confuse the whole thing. But we have a bond, okay?”  
  
     “You _did_ cradle me in your arms.”  
  
     “Eat shit, Lance. I’m being serious.” Keith’s hand moves from Lance’s shoulder to cup the side of his head, thumb grazing the other’s temple, “We have this bond, and I don’t really understand all of it but—“ Keith tries to ignore the sirens going off in his head, flashing red and warning him that he’s miles from the line at this point, dangerously close to falling off the edge of whatever plane he’s drifting on, “What I’m trying to say is that you don’t have to mope in here by yourself. If you’re miserable, then everyone else is miserable so just— get it off your chest and get back to being yourself already.”  
  
     Lance just blinks at him for a couple moments, and Keith feels a panic attack rising from the depths of his gut. He’s never been one for words, much less speeches. If he’d really wanted to make things right he should have done it by kicking Lance’s ass on the training deck, socking him in the head so he’d forget Earth all together.  
  
     “Keith?” Keith starts, remembering his fingers in Lance’s hair. He goes to pull away, but Lance catches them in his own hand a second later.  
  
     “What?”  
  
     “When we get back to Earth, do you want to meet them?”  
  
     “Your family?” Keith asks, trying not to dwell on the ‘when’ in Lance’s question. His own words feel like a sticky knot in his throat as Lance leans slightly closer, Keith’s hand still curled in his, “Isn’t it hot in New Mexcio?”  
  
     “Yeah.” Lance answers, eyebrows quirking at the question, and Keith is _very_ aware of the matching pull of the other’s lips, crooked and exposing a dimple in his left cheek.  
  
     “Don’t they speak Spanish?”   
  
     “They’d speak English for you.” Lance says, pausing for a moment, grin still eager on his lips, “You’re not saying no.”   
  
     “Why would I say no?” Keith asks. Something draws him forward, and his fingers grip tighter around Lance’s. He has a difficult time distinguishing Lance’s breaths from his own, “Why would you ask me if you thought I’d say—“  
  
     Keith has never kissed someone. He’d always thought of the action as unnecessary and unappealing.   
  
     But when Lance leans forward and kisses him, knocking their teeth together in a clumsy motion, something in his chest unravels at the absolute rightness of the moment. It’s nothing like the moments he’d seen on TV, or the couples he’d walked past in the hallways at the garrison. It’s quick and awkward, equal parts wetter and better than he would have ever expected, but it’s _Lance,_ and somehow that gives it the meaning he’s never understood.  
  
     “Fuck, I haven’t done this since I was like _thirteen.”_ Lance babbles, and Keith notes the violent flush of red cascading over the bridge of the other’s nose, “Can I just. Let me try again?”  
  
     Keith simply nods, eyes following as Lance leans in slower, tilting his head so their noses don’t clash as he presses their lips together again. This time, Keith doesn’t encounter teeth first, but the soft, cautious press of Lance’s lips. They’re a little chapped, and Keith can just taste the remnants of this morning’s breakfast, and contrary to everything he’s ever known about himself, he doesn’t mind.  
  
     Keith lifts the hand Lance isn’t holding to splay his fingers across Lance’s chest, eyelids fluttering closed and lips opening just slightly to close in on another kiss, prompting Lance’s to follow the same motion. Eyes closed, Keith feels himself settle back into his bones, allowing the terribly impulsive part of him that wants to kiss Lance again and again and _again_ to do so. After a bit, Lance releases Keith’s fingers to cup his face in both hands, something hungrier working its way into the slide of their lips, their tongues and teeth, breaths intermingling in the space they’ve created between them.  
  
     Keith feels like an animal that didn’t know it was being starved until now.  
  
     His fingers grip at the fabric of Lance’s shirt as small sighs and subtle gasps work their way between his lips, echoing up into the high ceilings of the room. Lance’s tongue works behind his teeth, flicking along the roof of Keith’s mouth in a way that makes a shudder slide down his spine. On an impulse, Keith bites down on Lance’s bottom lip, tugging slightly, and revels in the low groan Lance lets out in response.  
  
     “Shoulda know you’d be a biter.” Lance laughs, breathless when he presses his forehead to Keith’s, “Like your fucking lion.”  
  
     Keith is about to respond when the door slides open and the two of them hurtle apart from each other in shocked surprise, hearts beating a mile a minute.  
  
     “Keith?” Coran’s voice drifts in from the end of the room, and Keith’s eyes fall on the ticker dropped carelessly on the floor between them, “Ah there you are!” Keith looks up as Coran paces over to them, looking friendly and unsuspecting, “Ah, and Lance is here to, wonderful! Did you find the ticker?”  
  
     “Ah, yeah.” Keith mumbles, words wobbly on his lips as he attempts to regain his breath and dignity, “It’s right here, sorry.”  
  
     “Thought you got lost for a minute.” Coran jokes, leaning down to take the ticker from Keith’s hand. He pauses, looking between the two of them. Keith doesn’t dare glance over at Lance, but he can only assume that he’s just as suspiciously red in the face as Keith feels, “Everything alright, boys?”  
  
     “Yeah. Yeah!” Lance jumps in, standing to his feet in a tangle of unsteady limbs, “We were looking for it together, you know? It got tossed all the way over here somehow. Crazy, right?”  
  
     Keith cringes, but Coran’s mouth parts with an amused chuckle, rapping himself lightly on the head with his knuckles, “Ah sorry, boys. Must’ve dropped it and gotten distracted. Glad you found it though, Pidge is eager to start the competition. Are you two going to join?”  
  
     Keith is about to confirm, but Lance cuts in before he can speak, saying, “We were actually just studying the stars. Memorizing them for navigation purposes? New universe problems. We’ll catch up.”  
  
     “Suit yourself.” Coran replies, shrugging one shoulder and turning back towards the door, “Happy studying, boys!”  
  
     As the door shuts, Keith turns to Lance with a frown, “Studying? What the hell Lance, I’m not going to study all these _stars.”_  
  
     “No shit.” Lance replies, lifting his hand to curl his fingers in the hair at the back of Keith’s neck, rolling his eyes, “Why would you study stars when you could study _me.”_  
  
Realizing, Keith raises his eyebrows and scoffs, “You’re so full of it, you know.”  
  
     “You’re into it.”  
  
     Keith tugs Lance down for another kiss, enduring Lance’s cackling against his lips rather than admit the thought working its way to the forefront of his mind from the suppressed depths of his subconscious.  
  
     That yeah, maybe he _is_  kind of into it.


End file.
